


you are the wilderness

by arekiras



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Battle Couple Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Canon Compliant, M/M, Slice of Life, Uncle Magnus, uncle Alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekiras/pseuds/arekiras
Summary: Magnus reaches up a hand and holds Alec’s wrist, breaths steady and long, fingers pressed to the veins in his wrist. Alec stills, cupping Magnus’ neck and feeling the pulse thud there. He thinks about twin hearts and eternity, the way that some souls must be drawn together by fate or the hand of some God or possibly their own determination.Or, Alec's love for Magnus in three parts.





	you are the wilderness

Alec could spend the rest of his life basking in the sun of Magnus Bane’s smile. Even in his worst moods, the rays hit him and warm him to his very core. Magnus has a direct line to Alec’s heart, he’s able to pluck the sweetest melodies from its strings. 

“You’re beautiful,” Alec mumbles into the golden silk of their pillowcases, laying to face Magnus and running a gentle thumb down the bridge of his nose, along the creases of his eyes. The very light smudge of liner still clinging to the skin. Magnus smiles, but doesn’t open his eyes. Alec follows the movement of his cheeks with soft fingers, cheekbone to jaw, stopping to cup his chin and kiss him. 

Magnus reaches up a hand and holds Alec’s wrist, breaths steady and long, fingers pressed to the veins in his wrist. Alec stills, cupping Magnus’ neck and feeling the pulse thud there. He thinks about twin hearts and eternity, the way that some souls must be drawn together by fate or the hand of some God or possibly their own determination. He thinks these things and smiles, just in time for Magnus to open his eyes, unglamored molten gold. 

“What are you thinking about?” he breathes. 

“You,” Alec replies simply. 

Magnus breathes out of his nose, mouth twitching, and so it must be a laugh. “Alexander the romantic.” 

“I’m in love,” Alec says, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Oh? Anyone I know?” Magnus asks, lifting an eyebrow. Alec rolls his eyes and slides closer until their foreheads are touching, legs tangling together, and all he can see is a world of big, warm eyes and warmer brown skin. Many minutes pass before either of them break the silence again. Alec has almost dozed off when Magnus says, “I love you, too.” 

 

Magic has a smell. It’s like a lightning storm, if a sky raging with the power of all the gods could be bottled and sprayed like cologne. Like if the world was cracking open leg an egg underfoot, the mighty roar of it would somewhat resemble the smell of magic. Trapped in the cloth of Magnus’ jacket, it’s comforting. Familiar. But now, coating the back of Alec’s throat, it’s almost frightening. 

Another time and in another place, Alec may have been frightened. But there is no fear in the pounding of his heart, not for himself. 

Magnus stands a few yards ahead, feet splayed, back arching, hands thrown up. His magic is bloody red, creating a wall of mist stretching wide, forming a dome over them as Alec watches. There’s a snap and shudder, the flesh of the earth bleeding and then knitting together again to accommodate the power as the dome seals around them all: Magnus, Alec, Isabelle and Luke, several warlocks and Shadowhunters. 

The screeches of the draconian demons that are steadily approaching is muffled, the world tinted red around them. The demons soar toward them on leathery wings and Magnus flinches, bracing for impact, and the first one hits the magical shield. In a shower of ash and ichor, it disintegrates. Its fellows follow and are granted the same fate of fire, brimstone and sulphur, shattering apart at the first brush of Magnus’ magic. 

With every strike Magnus rocks back before regaining his footing, holding fast until the last demon bursts apart. Then, very suddenly, the magic disappears and Magnus drops to his knees, hands braced on the ground. 

Alec is beside him before he realizes he’s commanded his body to move, clutching his back and arm tightly. “Magnus,” he hisses urgently, “Are you okay?” 

Magnus grunts, dropping back and sitting against Alec, panting. “Are you?” Magnus asks, and Alec can see it in his expression. Beyond the exhaustion and fizzling exhilaration of battle is that worry. Hesitance. He leans into Alec gingerly, as if at any moment he will recoil in disgust. 

Alec leans his forehead against Magnus’ temple. “Yeah, that was amazing, Magnus. You saved us,” he says, “Will you be alright?” 

Magnus relaxes, sagging heavily on Alec, taking his hand. “Yes. After a long, long  _ nap _ , perhaps.” 

“We can definitely arrange that. I love you,” Alec whispers into Magnus’ hair, and Magnus chuckles. 

“I love you, too, Alexander,” Magnus replies tiredly. 

 

A high pitched squeal draws Alec from Magnus’ study, blinking hard to clear the letters swimming before his eyes. Reaching the living room, he blinks again, the riot of color unfamiliar. Red splattered over the couch, blue dripping onto the floor, neon pink staining his favorite bearskin rug. 

In the middle of it are Magnus and Madzie, coated in paint and standing in the rubble of what must be a thousand sheets of paper and several tubs of child-safe paint. “Alec!” Madzie says, wiping a smear of orange off of her cheek and ducking behind Magnus’ legs. 

Magnus beams at him, tall hair streaked with green and blue, nose tipped in pink. There’s a wide splatter of yellow across his chest. “We were finger painting,” he says, holding up his hands, which are about five different colors. “And Madzie got a little  _ over-excited _ ,” he says. Madzie peers up at Alec worriedly, but he just grins. 

“So I see. I like this new look,” he says, walking barefoot into the wet paint pooled on the floor and drawing Magnus in by the front of his newly primary yellow shirt. Magnus swipes a finger across Alec’s cheek, making a multicolored line of paint. 

“I’m a fan,” Magnus agrees, winking at Alec. 

“Mama might not be,” Madzie grumbles, picking at her braid, the tip soaked with purple. 

“We can always clean up later,” Alec says, reaching down and stroking her hair. 

Magnus leans in close, whispering so Madzie doesn’t hear, “Or not.” His eyes are gleaming with mischief and Alec lets out a laugh, hooking his hand around the nape of Magnus’ neck and kissing him, tasting paint. 

Madzie makes a gagging noise and Magnus pulls away, leaning down and scooping her up, giving her exaggerated kisses on the cheek as she shouts. When he lets her down, she’s off streaking through the living room, leaving painted footprints on the floor. Magnus leaves a second, larger set as he gives chase, making loud monstrous noises that are almost drowned out by her laughter. 

Alec looks after them for a moment before shaking his head to himself and saying, “I love you,” to the air. Then he follows the sounds of shouting to their bedroom, where Madzie has spread her artwork onto their bed, jumping up and down, clinging to Magnus’ hands as they bounce. 


End file.
